


coffee and warriors

by justkeeponwriting



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (or not), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bodyguard Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Meet-Cute, Rock Star Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 23:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkeeponwriting/pseuds/justkeeponwriting
Summary: “Don’t you know who I am?”“I’m sorry, have we met?”In which Dean is a rock star who expects to be recognized everywhere, and Castiel doesn’t listen to the radio.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dean/Cas Mid-Winter Tropefest 5k. I feel like I’ve written this AU before, but eh. One more lame coffee shop AU can’t hurt the fandom, right?

Castiel had been back in the States for less than three weeks before he got the itch to move again. He’d thought that if he came back to his roots, settled in the town where he’d been born, got a lame job that didn’t involve hopping in a plane every two weeks, and rented a normal apartment instead of staying indefinitely in hotels, he’d be happy to stay put.

He wasn’t. He didn’t mind the job at the coffee shop – it was boring compared to touring around with rich assholes, but it was soothing, in a weird way – and his apartment was nice enough, but after witnessing the bustling life of dozen different cities around the globe, he wasn’t content at staying in Lawrence, Kansas. It wasn’t even the town’s fault: mostly, it was related to how he didn’t feel like he _fit_ _in_. Not anymore, not after being absent for nearly a decade, not after the way he’d lived abroad. He felt stifled, like he was forced into some kind of role, and he couldn’t remember his lines, nor find the damn script.

But, Castiel reasoned, he should at least try. His last job had ended in three deaths, one very nearly his own, and the doctors had been right: he was parsed together so sloppily that it was a miracle all his limbs still worked as well as they did. He had to stay put and heal, get used to life in a small town again. He would remember how to be a normal person again. All it took was time.

And patience, Castiel reminded himself as he tampered down the urge to hurl the cup of frappuccino in a customer’s face.

“Are you sure there isn’t any milk in it, this time?” the girl asked, eyeing the cup with disdain.

“I made it from soy milk, so, yes, I’m sure,” Castiel said. He counted to ten inside his head. It seemed absurd that he’d watched over a Saudi Arabian prince during his orgies, not even batting an eye at the request to keep watch, but serving a snooty twenty-year-old who had rejected the first version of the drink made his eye twitch. Luckily, the girl huffed and accepted the drink this time around.

She didn’t leave a tip. Of course she didn’t, Castiel thought. Anna, a childhood friend of his and another worker at the coffee shop, gave him an encouraging look.  Castiel had gotten the job because of her recommendation, and he didn’t want to be ungrateful – instead, he tried to take note of everything she’d told him. She’d warned him that the regular customers came in like they owned the place, expected top-notch service, and rarely left tip. It was one of life’s strange mysteries, why people who used the place most left the least tip, Anna had told him with a shrug.

Sighing inwardly, Castiel turned back to the register and the line of customers that seemed much longer than a minute ago. He hadn’t worked at the shop for more than two weeks, and already he was tired of the weekend shifts. He couldn’t understand how someone could work years at the same shop – like Pamela had done, and she had seemed perfectly content when he’d asked about that. She must have better understanding of life than he did, Castiel thought, forlornly.

“Hello and welcome. Can I take your order, sir?” Castiel said to the next customer, a sandy-haired man who was playing with his phone. The man was wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket, which Castiel thought was a strange choice for the summer heat, but perhaps the man thought style was more important than the heat.

The man barely glanced away from his phone. “Hi, the usual, thanks.”

Castiel gave the man an unimpressed look. “And what might ‘the usual’ be, sir?”

The man lowered his phone, surprised when Castiel addressed him. There was a pause, and when Castiel didn’t say anything else, the man took off his sunglasses. Castiel tried to keep his face blank – the man might’ve been the handsomest customer he’d ever served during his short career as a barista, but he was still a customer, and a rude one, for that matter.

“Uh. Caramel macchiato. To go,” he added, still eyeing Castiel like he was unsure why he had to tell this. Castiel ignored that, rang up the order, and seeing as there was a line forming behind the man, he asked,

“What’s your name?”

“What?” The man blinked at Castiel, and for one, absurd moment, Castiel feared that he’d said that in Chinese. He’d already scared more than one customer by accidentally lapsing into Spanish, or Russian, and in one memorable case, had a whole conversation in Italian, and only realized that after the customer had left and all the other workers had turned to stare at him.

“What name should I put on the cup, sir?” Castiel asked.

“Are you—are you kidding me?” the man asked. “Don’t you know who I am?”

It was Castiel’s turn to blink. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

The man didn’t look familiar, and even if Castiel had met so many people during his lifetime that it was impossible for him to remember all their names, he was pretty sure he would have remembered this man. There was no way to forget a strikingly pretty face like that, attached to that voice and that effortlessly strong-looking body.

It might’ve been a little too long since Castiel had last been in a relationship. He quickly forced down the fleeting fantasies about getting better acquainted with the man’s beautiful lips and the sinful things he could do to those.

“No, but—are you kidding me right now?”

“I’m not…kidding you,” Castiel said. “What name should I put on the cup?”

“It’s Dean,” the man said, sounding annoyed, “Dean Winchester.”

“Alright, Dean it is,” Castiel said. He didn’t recognize the name, and since Dean’s face wasn’t familiar, either, he was quickly losing interest. “That’ll be four fifty.”

Dean Win- _chester_ , as he’d pronounced it, tossed the exact amount of coins on the counter, still staring at Castiel. Castiel didn’t look back – he wasn’t interested in a rude regular who expected every worker at the coffee shop to have memorized his order. He ignored Dean and started to serve the next customer, until Anna came to his aid.

Anna made and handed Dean his drink while Castiel took the next orders, and Castiel would have already forgotten about the strange encounter, if Anna hadn’t brought it up when the rush died down, and they had a moment to breathe.

“Poor Dean,” she said, eyes twinkling. “He’s not used to people teasing him.”

“I…wasn’t aware I was teasing him,” Castiel said, unsure what they were talking about. Anna frowned, and Castiel stared back.

“You’re not kidding, are you?” Anna asked.

“No?”

“You really don’t know who Dean is?”

Her tone made Castiel pause. “Should I?”

She laughed. “Maybe. If you haven’t been in a coma for the past five years.”

“Anna, you know I haven’t been in the States for a decade.”

“True,” Anna mused, “but I always thought you’d keep up with the news.”

“I have.”

“Clearly not enough,” Anna said, still amused. “Oh, well.”

“What?” Castiel asked. “Is he one of those regulars who has a ridiculously detailed order and then throws a fit when no one can remember that?”

“Not really,” she said. “But yes, he’s a regular. You’ll see him later.” She smiled, and pat Castiel on the shoulder. “Never mind him. It’ll do him good to be ignored for a change.”

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Dean Win- _chester_ came to the shop again. Even if he’d wanted to, Castiel hadn’t been able to forget about their strange encounter, because Anna had told about that to Pamela, who had laughed so hard that she’d snorted water out of her nose. Castiel didn’t see the funny part, but he was glad he could at least provide some amusement for his co-workers.

This time, the coffee shop was silent, because it was the middle of the day on Tuesday, and Dean marched right to the counter.

“Hi. I’ll have the usual, to go,” Dean said. His tone was challenging, so with a matching unimpressed tone, Castiel said,

“Would you please remind me what your ‘usual’ might be?”

Dean’s eye twitched. “Caramel macchiato.”

“Coming right up, _sir_ ,” Castiel said. He barely kept the sneer out of his tone. For God’s sake, he’d been working in the shop for two weeks, and there were dozens of regulars with their ‘usual’ orders – how was Castiel supposed to remember one random guy’s order?

(Again, he felt that it was absurd that this was what pissed him off, and yet, he’d been in a shoot-out with the Russian mafia because a film star he’d been escorting had wanted to gamble in an area she’d specifically been warned about. They’d been almost killed because of that.)

“Thanks,” Dean said when Castiel handed him the drink a moment later. There was a strange moment when Dean just looked at Castiel, and not knowing what Dean was looking for, Castiel looked steadily back.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” Dean asked then.

Castiel sighed. “No. If we went to the same high school or college, I’m sorry, but let me remind you that there were thousands of students in the same building.”

“Same h—no, we weren’t in the same high school!”

“Then…should I know you?”

“For the love of—” Dean took a breath. “Let’s start over. I’m Dean Winchester.”

“Castiel Novak,” Castiel said, not able to keep out the amusement of his voice. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Dean said, although he didn’t sound very pleased. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Castiel said. Then he amended, not wanting to be as rude as Dean, “I started just two weeks ago.”

“Hm,” Dean said, eyeing Castiel. If it hadn’t been for Dean’s earlier rudeness, Castiel might’ve been able to call that look appreciative, like he was checking Castiel out.

The music playing on the background changed then; Anna liked to keep the radio on while they worked, and Castiel didn’t mind, although he knew nothing about the newest pop singles the channel kept repeating. It had been educational, and rather annoying, listening to the radio for the last two weeks.

“Ooh, okay,” Dean said, sounding suddenly pleased. “You know this song?”

“…no?” Castiel said, because he didn’t. The male singer’s voice sounded generic, as did the guitar chords playing alongside it, and it could’ve been anything from Justin Bieber to Ed Sheeran – Castiel wouldn’t have recognized it anyway. He had no idea what the world listened to, nowadays.

“This—this is my song!”

“That’s nice.”

“No, I mean, I wrote this! They’re literally playing my song.”

Castiel shook his head, getting more and more annoyed. “I’m glad you can identify with it. That’ll be four dollars and fifty.”

Dean’s mouth fell open, and he tried to say something for a moment, but couldn’t. Without a word, he took a few coins from his pocket and slammed them down on the counter. Undeterred, Castiel counted them, noting that it was the exact amount again. Dean gave him one more curious look, and Castiel barely resisted rolling his eyes.

“Have a good day, sir.”

Dean shook his head as he left. The door had barely closed behind him when Pamela and Anna started to laugh in the background. There didn’t seem to be an end to the giggling, and Castiel couldn’t help but crack a smile, too.

 

* * *

 

Castiel knew to expect Dean the third time, because he didn’t work for the rest of that week, and when he came back on Monday, Pamela smirked and told him that Dean had come in, looking for him, on Saturday. Castiel sighed, not knowing what to make of this…strangely insistent customer.

At least he was prepared when Dean came in on Monday afternoon, right after the rush, and firmly parked himself in front of the counter.

“Hi,” Dean said.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, resigned.

“Here. I brought something for you,” Dean muttered, pushing something over the counter to Castiel.

Castiel took the offered CD, picking it up with a frown. On the cover, there were five people: three men and two women, all posing on a cliff with their instruments. Castiel didn’t recognize any of the faces but Dean’s: he was placed in the middle, holding a guitar, looking up to the sky. Dean’s hair was longer in the picture and it was colored blue from the sides, but Castiel resisted pointing out that he looked much better without that ridiculous color. Wordlessly, Castiel put the CD back on the counter.

“So,” Dean said, leaning on the counter and pushing his face towards Castiel, “do you recognize me now?”

“Not really,” Castiel said. “I guess that’s you on the cover, though.”

“You guess—yes, it’s me! And my band!” Dean said, pointing at the title, _The Devil Makers_.

“Good for you,” Castiel said, pushing the CD back to Dean. “What will it be today, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean sighed. “The usual. To go.”

“Which was…caramel frappuccino?”

“ _Macchiato!_ ” Dean snapped, but then he saw the way Castiel was trying to hold his laughter.

“You’re making fun of me,” Dean said, sounding strangely awed.

“Just a bit,” Castiel said, unable to help a smile. He turned away to make Dean’s drink, feeling Dean’s eyes on his back all the while. It made him smile, and he outright grinned at Dean when he finished the drink and set it on the counter.

“Keep that. You might as well educate yourself about the world,” Dean said then, looking at the CD still in between them.

“No, thank you,” Castiel said. He pushed the CD towards Dean. “I think I’m educated about you and your ego enough.”

Dean’s mouth fell open – that seemed to happen quite often in Castiel’s presence – and he didn’t take the drink or the CD until Castiel pushed them both into Dean’s hands.

“That’ll be four fifty,” Castiel said, and wordlessly, Dean paid and left.

 

* * *

 

The fourth time Dean came to the shop, Castiel wasn’t working at the register. He was cleaning tables when Dean entered, with Pamela manning the counter, and Castiel didn’t notice Dean until he was returning to the kitchen to wash the rag. Dean was leaning on the counter, frowning, while Pamela was smiling like she’d just been handed a million dollars.

“Dean Winchester to see you, handsome,” Pamela said. She took the rag from Castiel and disappeared to the kitchen, laughing to herself. Castiel sighed before turning towards Dean.

“What will it be today, Dean?”

“Caramel macchiato, please,” Dean said.

“To go?”

“No, um… Can I drink it here?” Castiel looked up from the register, and for the first time, Dean seemed somewhat shy. He glanced elsewhere, before looking up again and giving Castiel an obviously practiced grin.

“I feel like we got started on the wrong foot,” Dean said.

“You don’t say.”

Dean looked upwards and took a breath, and Castiel snorted at him. He turned to make Dean’s drink, and they were silent as Castiel worked.

“I swear I’m not as much of an asshole as you probably think,” Dean said when Castiel handed him the drink. Dean put the exact amount of coins on the counter again, and Castiel didn’t even bother to count them as he collected them. “Let me try to rectify that.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Castiel said. That made Dean look sharply at him, and he must’ve realized that Castiel was joking, because he hesitantly smiled at Castiel.

“So, Castiel,” Dean said, “What brings you to our humble abode? No offense, but you don’t seem like the…”

Dean trailed off, so Castiel continued, “The type to work in a coffee shop?”

“Yeah.”

“Thirty-five-year old men with tattoos don’t fit your profile of coffee shop employees?” Castiel asked, amused. He’d already gotten some looks because of the huge wing tattoos that started at his back and went all the way down to his arms, and if he was honest, he kind of liked throwing people off.

“You’re thirty-five?” Dean asked. “Huh. You’re not that much older than me.”

Castiel didn’t take the bait. He raised his brows, eyeing Dean until he got embarrassed and looked down, again with that surprisingly shy gesture. Castiel found that he liked it; it felt like he was seeing Dean’s real personality for the first time.

“So, uh. What brings you here?”

“Do you really want to know, or are you just trying to make me remember your order?”

Dean snorted. “Both.”

Castiel gave him a small smile. “I got injured during a job, and had to quit for medical reasons. This is just a temporary gig, to give me something to do.”

“What did you do before you ended up here?”

“I used to be a bodyguard.”

That visibly threw Dean in a loop. He opened his mouth a few times, then closed it.

“Huh. Um. Cool.” He grinned, and even if it was shaky, Castiel couldn’t help but be strangely charmed. “Protect anyone I know?”

“Client confidentiality,” Castiel reminded him. “And no, I don’t think so. I’ve been staying in the Middle East and Asia for the past years.”

“How the hell did you fit in there?” Dean blurted out. “I mean, isn’t it a bodyguard’s job to blend in the crowd and be visible only when you’re needed?”

“Not necessarily,” Castiel sighed. “Depends on the job. Some people like to flaunt their wealth by hiring a bodyguard who so very obviously is a bodyguard.”

“People are strange.”

“Tell me about it,” Castiel muttered. They shared a smile, and for the first time, Castiel felt like they were having a conversation where they were on equal footing, like Dean was really noticing him, not just being annoyed that Castiel didn’t know him by default.

“So, a bodyguard,” Dean said, leaning closer. “I wouldn’t mind you guarding my body.”

And just like that, the moment was gone. Castiel sighed. “Was there anything else you’d like, Dean?”

“How about some cream on my—”

“Have a nice day, Mr. Winchester,” Castiel said, and turned away. Pamela and Anna openly laughed at him when he entered the kitchen, and the giggling only got worse when he scowled at them.

“Seriously, at some point, you need to stop teasing him,” Anna laughed, “or he’s going to lose interest.”

“Who says I have an interest in him?” Castiel fired back.

“Oh honey,” Pamela said, and Castiel didn’t bother answering that. He didn’t have to.

 

* * *

 

Castiel lost count how many times Dean came into the shop after that. He didn’t think he talked with any other customer as much as he talked with Dean, even if most of it was pointless banter. Dean seemed to have made it his life’s mission to get Castiel change his mind about Dean, and Castiel didn’t bother telling Dean that if he hadn’t liked Dean from the start, he would have walked away and asked Pamela, or Anna, or any other employee to serve Dean whenever he came to the shop.

Three weeks or so after meeting Dean, Castiel was out sick for a few days. There was a bug going around – odd, it being the middle of July, but it happened – and when it made to their shop, first Anna was out sick, then Pamela, then Castiel. The sickness passed quickly, and Castiel was back to the shop by the end of the week for an evening shift. He was surprised to see Dean sit by one of the window tables when he entered the shop, and even more confused when Dean jumped to his feet when Castiel passed by his table.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, and that made Castiel stop in his tracks. No one had called him ‘Cas’ in ages. His mom had called him that, but he wasn’t in speaking terms with his family anymore, not after coming out disastrously during college, and after that, he’d spent a decade working abroad, changing employers regularly. He hadn’t gotten close enough to anyone to allow a nickname in _years_.

“You haven’t been here for a while.”

“I had a cold,” Castiel said, trying to ignore his confusion.

“Oh, sorry to hear that. But you’re better now, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, although it was accompanied with a cough. He still hadn’t gotten rid of that, even if he didn’t have a fever anymore.

Dean eyed him, a softness in his eyes that Castiel hadn’t seen before. “That’s good. I was afraid you’d left to protect a prince in Middle East, or something.”

“I’ll be sure to tell you when prince Omar calls me again,” Castiel said dryly. But before Dean could protest, Castiel continued, “I’m afraid I’m bound to this job until my body heals, and that might be for some time.”

“Lucky me,” Dean said with a grin.

Castiel sighed, but he was more amused than annoyed. “More coffee, Dean?”

“No thanks. But I’ll take your number, nonetheless.”

“I’m not sure you could afford that,” Castiel quipped, strolling past Dean towards the kitchen.

“I haven’t seen you without your work clothes before! You look really good!” Dean yelled after him. Several customers snickered, and Castiel ducked his head in embarrassment.

He really should stop teasing Dean and just ask him out, before Dean truly embarrassed himself, or them both.

 

* * *

 

By August, Castiel had noticed that he regularly spent his lunch breaks by the counter, awkwardly trying to pretend that he didn’t have a sandwich waiting for him in the back whenever Dean stopped by. Just as awkwardly, Dean hovered by the counter to chat with him, until there was a line or whenever someone interrupted them to ask for Dean’s autograph. The first time that happened, Dean flushed bright red and couldn’t form a coherent sentence for a minute afterwards. Castiel smiled at him and moved on to talk about the time he had to pretend that he didn’t understand Croatian, because his employer started to complain about his services at a meeting, and it would’ve been awkward to cut him off. Dean laughed, and that was the end of that awkwardness.

All in all, by September, Castiel noticed that to his surprise, he might’ve actually called Dean a _friend_ , something he hadn’t had in years. It both annoyed him and exhilarated him to realize that he missed Dean’s company whenever Dean took more than a few days to visit him. Strangely, he even missed the lame pick-up lines Dean still kept sliding into the conversation, mostly when he got awkward and couldn’t think of what to say. It amused Castiel, so he didn’t tell Dean to stop.

One day in October, Dean slunk in, a frown marring his handsome face. Castiel tore his eyes away from that, and handed him the pre-prepared caramel macchiato, and wordlessly, Dean put the money on the counter.

“I might have to take one of these for the road,” Dean said then, with a sad snort. “I’m not gonna be here for a while.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. The pang he felt in his heart was more powerful than he’d expected. “Are…are you going somewhere?”

“Touring,” Dean muttered. “We start next week.”

“Long work trip, then,” Castiel said with a nod. He was familiar with them, but he didn’t feel the lightness he usually associated with them when he thought of Dean leaving.

“I guess,” Dean said. “But, um, our first gig is in, I’m, uh, playing next week in Kansas City,” Dean said, sounding adorably shy again. Castiel liked him best when he was like this – like he was showing his true personality, and not acting for the world. He’d been showing that side of him more and more lately.

“Yes?”

“You…would you like to come to see our show?” Dean asked. “I mean, since you don’t listen to us, it might be boring, but…”

Castiel grinned, unable to help it. “I don’t know about that. I thought your latest album was pretty good. Although my favorite is the third, _Lazarus Rising_.”

“Wait, what?” Dean’s head snapped up, and he stared at Castiel with round eyes. “You—you’ve listened to that? But you said—that you didn’t know me!”

“Dean, of course I know who you are. We’ve known each other for months.”

“But I mean…I thought you didn’t…really believe me.”

“Dean, as suspicious as I am, it’s hard to not recognize a guy who’s been on _Rolling Stone_ ’s cover three times.”

“But you—” Dean took a breath, seemingly recalibrating his whole world, and said, “When did you realize?”

“There wasn’t anything to _realize_ , Dean. I googled you after you insisted on giving me your last name for your order,” Castiel said, dryly. To his amusement, Dean had the audacity to blush. “I just didn’t _care_. You were a customer, no matter your occupation.”

Dean was silent for a while. “Not a customer anymore, am I?”

Castiel didn’t have a proper answer for that. “I don’t think you’ve been just a customer for a while,” he settled on saying. They shared a small smile.

“You said you didn’t recognize my song,” Dean said then.

“That’s called lying.”

“What the— _why_?”

“You were getting annoying in your insistence that I should automatically know who you are and give you the time of the day just because of that.”

Dean fell silent again, looking at his feet.

“I was an ass, wasn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“I was an overbearing idiot.”

“Yes.

“You could at least _try_ to soften the blow.”

“For your ego?”

Dean looked elsewhere.

“I swear I haven’t been like this before,” Dean said then, quietly. “I’ve never used my fame as a—as a…I don’t even know. I thought I wouldn’t turn into a rich asshole just because I got famous, but look at me now.”

“I don’t think of you as a rich asshole,” Castiel said. “Believe me, I _know_ rich assholes.”

“Had me fooled.”

“You live in Lawrence, Kansas, despite making millions. That, if anything, is a sign of your humbleness, Dean.”

That startled a laugh out of Dean.

“True,” he said. “But honestly, I’m sorry, Cas. I didn’t mean to be an ass to you. I was just—” He swallowed. “Okay, I was annoyed you didn’t recognize me, but only because I wanted to keep talking to you. When people recognize me, it’s one step less. It’s easy to keep the conversation going that way. But you didn’t, and…” He signed. “Guess I’ve forgotten how to flirt otherwise.”

“You were trying to flirt?” Castiel smirked.

“You didn’t real—wait, you’re making fun of me again, aren’t you.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “But only because you make it so easy.”

“And you keep making everything complicated.”

“Fine. Let me uncomplicated this for you, Dean Win- _chester_ ,” Castiel said. He raised his hand, and Dean leant into the touch before Castiel’s fingers could even brush against his cheek. “I like you, Dean, and I’d like to go out with you some time. Going to your show can be a start, if you’d like.”

“Um,” Dean said. He grinned, looking adorably shy again. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“And let me just say, with complete honesty,” Castiel said with a smirk, “that I like you, with or without your platinum records and millions of fans.”

“I think I got that,” Dean snorted. “You still don’t care about that, do you?”

“Not really. But it’s your job, and I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“I guess I should’ve expected something like that from a dude who’s slept with a Saudi Arabian prince.”

“Slept in his _bed_. And only because he was afraid someone might assassinate him.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Dean laughed. “I can think of better reasons a prince might want you in his bed.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Castiel grinned. Before Dean could take that seriously, Castiel leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips, like he’d wanted to do from the first time he’d seen Dean.

It was well worth the goofy grin Dean gave him. If Castiel had known that he could coax Dean to look like that with a single kiss, he would have been kissing Dean nonstop from the start.

 

* * *

 

Castiel didn’t need to date Dean for long before he realized that Dean had been right: _everyone_ in the universe seemed to know him, but only Castiel seemed to care about the person behind the fame. So, to counter that, every time someone commented, “Dude, your boyfriend’s famous!”, Castiel had a ready reply.

He tilted his head, looked at Dean like there was something he didn’t understand, and said, “Is he? I never noticed.”

He and Dean routinely made bets about how long it took people to realize they were messing with them. They stopped after Dean’s brother Sam didn’t get it after their second anniversary.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on tumblr, [here](http://helakkas.tumblr.com) or [here](http://justkeeponwriting.tumblr.com)! Thank you for reading!


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